Oculla
by mechizedeck22
Summary: Brought by fate onto an unkown planet. A cosmic accident that will change the future of mankind forever.


**Oculla**

From the records of Tenkkaten, royal record keeper for the Templari clan; Year of Our Lord 14623.93lk "12 days in the blackness of space, the dank, dark depths of the black abyss. The cursed wasteland to which our savior shunned life and existence itself. The low gravity has caused our blood to coagulate, making it difficult to see or think. Our hasty departure from our homeworld left us ill prepared. We left without Xyloph, the precious herb that adjusts our bodies to the pressures of space. We are also low on nutritious food and drinkable water. Our telepathic abilities have decreased significantly, adding even more to the growing frustration and panic. Worst of all we are on our last canister of H2Xe4, our air for breathing. The small skiff we stole is barely large enough to hold a normal crew of 3, much less 10 of us. Worse still, the virus is beginning to take hold of us, the deadly Fraggi protein strain. I've seen what it does to my kind, the burning, screeching pain which leaves us screaming to death, and the inability to die due to the fact that our frontal lobes were taken over by the virus's tiny microplasms. We incinerated them, all of them - all of those infected, but it didn't help, the thoughtless, lifeless, curse of the universe could not be stopped. Would not be stopped. After the strange satellite asteroid first descended upon our pale green sky, we thought nothing of it. Death, death, death. My head is filled with shouts and ringing of voices, death screams and anguish, contorted faces and mental patterns, but we, the last few, have escaped and our patriotic duty is to...I can hear them, I can see them inside my head! Death, THE VIRUS IS IN THE SHIP! I can feel the pain of my brethren, the virus is in my head, "YOU CAN'T HAVE ME, I WON'T, I... End of message, ships' log The users have been taken host by the apparition, autopilot: engaged, course: corrupted, destination: closest habitable planet...Searching...searching...A small blue colored planet in a tiny 9 planet system, main gravitational force - a class L star in its' early life. Scanners have plotted a course, correct entry angle, landing point secure, all systems nearly fully operational, descent looks good... Atmosphere starting to melt the hull, systems...powering down 

It was a cold day; the piercing bite of the winter wind chilled one to the core. It had been snowing for three days straight, and already the snow was piled high upon the mountains. The thin air from the high altitude made it difficult to breathe, and the white blanket of snow had reduced visibility to a minimum. The once-green giant fir and spruce trees had been turned into a graveyard of white shapes in a gray sky. The panorama was desolate, with howling wind carrying the sounds of banshees and ghosts from distant past and time ago. Under the covered glare of a one-year old spruce sat a small arctic fox, wizened in its' old age. It had seen many winters and it knew how to get along. In the midst of its' orange-red coat, it had grown a soft pelt of warm white fur. Blending in perfectly with the cold snow, he was a silent predator, like a three-foot long part of the snow that lived and breathed life. It had been sitting under that spruce for more than twenty minutes, eyeing a nearby doe. Apparently the doe had been searching for some of the sparse vegetation left in the area, and although she was mal-nutritioned, she still had some fat on her. Staying within striking distance, the fox leapt through the icy air, aiming his moist fangs at the soft throat of the female deer. The deer looked up, startled, and started to turn, when the fox struck its' target. The deer fell to one side, heaving its' last cold breaths, its' warm blood melting the snow around the fatal wound. After at last knowing his prey was gone, the fox started on the hide, chewing it to make it softer. Ripping into chunks the tender, fresh meat, the fox was startled by a deafening noise overhead. The bright burst of orange and red flame were in stark contrast to the shadowy blizzard, and the dull gunmetal gray object soared through the sky. Forsaking his prize for his life, the fox leapt away, leaving his meal for later. The small chunk of metal burned through the sky, the intense heat leaving the forward sections white and dripping. In a matter of seconds, the craft struck the earth, and the God-forsaken wasteland was shifted into an inferno of splintered pines and twisted metal. Skidding along the surface of this plateau, the craft finally slowed and came almost to a complete stop. Precariously it balanced over the edge of a steep cliff, the harsh wind driving it on. The three hundred foot ledge was unforgiving, the cliffs' support was giving. At the last second, as in a stroke of luck, the object swung over to safety and finally found a resting point. Rising steam from the melted snow snaked its' way through the air along a trail of four miles, the distance it had taken the craft to come to a screeching halt. The immediate area around the crash site was a fiery blaze, and the ground had turned to a black ash, leaving a scar in the land where once there had been a blizzard. The loose gravel and sand had been turned into a dull-gray glass from the spiking crucible of flames. In a matter of minutes, the howling wind had returned, and forest was as it had been. The piercing cold bit into the alien metal, cracking parts of it from the intense heat difference. The land was still, and the creatures came out of their caves and burrows. Once again it was silent, and the deathly falling of freezing snow had once again turned the ground and trees white with chill.

Casting an ominous shadow over its' withering village, castle Vomstein beckoned for the night to come with its' dark glow. The black rock used to erect it had been mined from a quarry over three miles away, and even though the fortress was ancient beyond age it stood strong. From the outside one could see a flickering light though a small portal in the main tower, it was in stark contrast to the deathly chill and cold of the castle. The one faint light was a silent beacon through the white static of a mid-winter Transyllvanian storm. At the light's source were three large candles of horse lard and crushed bark, and they gave off enough heat to light the entire chamber.

Inside of the dwelling sat an old gray bearded man. He sat hunched over so as one could see his years from his posture, and his hands told the weathered story of an arduous life. He rested on a small brown three-legged stool which looked like it had seen more than it's fair share of sits. From the inside of the chamber one could see a single portal to the outside, a vent letting in the chill of death. All around the man were walls of stone, dark, crumbling, molded stone. In front of the man was a small wooden trap door leading to a lower level. The hinges were rusty and eroded and the hatch was equipped with a rather large padlock whose key was carefully hidden around the neck of the old man. The lone man wore a single black robe with occasional rips and tears, a well-used leather satchel, and two leather boots of eastern origin. From the lower level looking up at the hatchway one could see a faint writing on the surface, as if it once had shown proudly in it's glorious splendor but had later faded into obscurity. The writing read, "Isaac DuVon Helder - appointed healer, magician, and sage to the holy royal family."

Suddenly, as in a burst of impatience, a solid, firm knock could be heard from underneath the hatch, accompanied my a harmony of garbled voices and dialogues.

In the midst of the frenzy one outstanding voice could be heard above the rest, "DuVon Helder!" the voice rang, "Open the hatch!" In a flurry of blue eyes and long, sandy blonde hair, the captain of the kings' loyal guard ordered the old man to come down. "DuVon Helder!" he yelped with anticipation, "DuVon Hel..."

"Yes, what is it?" said the said the old man quietly with a small gleam from behind the shroud of his inherited blue eyes. At the sound of his voice, all other noises died out, and in wide-eyed fear the congregation moved back a pace.

"Sir, you are requested by the king for a private conference," the captain calmly asserted. Cutting in with a quick reply, the old man said,

"All right, all right, I'm coming."

Illuminated by the pale shadow of a dead moon, the foreign craft lay in stillness, as though it had been there for an eternity. The fierce blizzard had been replaced by a gently falling snow, and the old pines rustled silently in their resting places. The scar left in the ground from the crafts' previous landing had been filled up with the white flakes of a fresh snowfall, and the alien vehicle seemed to blend in with it's surroundings.

As if by an immortal fate the craft suddenly heaved a shudder, and under the scornful gaze of an ever-present moon a portal suddenly opened. It opened slowly, in the shape of a circle. One could see a large spurt of a some sort of gas escape the craft from the pressure imbalance, and when the portal had opened to a diameter of about six feet, it slowly halted.

A pale black arm moved cautiously through the bottom of the round portal, and it rested once it came in contact with the chill of snow. Slowly retracting, it was replaced by the presence of a dull gray body. Small, black eyes darted from side to side. Hidden by the pale luminescence of a Transyllvanian winter moon, the other-wordly being slowly crawled out of the foreign craft. It's piercing eyes looked up at the star-lit sky, and it breathed in a breath of air. Realizing that it was not yet dead, it slowly rose to it's full slender six foot and two inch frame.

Isaac DuVon Helder slowly descended castle Vomstein's large spiral staircase in the South Wing. He contemplated the happenings of the last 24 hours. Many of the serfs had witnessed a large demon flying through the sky spewing fire from it's nostrils, and noxious gasses from its' mouth. They had seen it travel through the sky casting judgment on the native peoples. Then, in a rumble heard well over 5 miles away, the being crashed into the earth, carrying judgment among all who fall in it's path. Helder knew the superstitions of the common people were nothing more than fallacious attempts to explain the supernatural, yet he wondered what had really happened. The most modern minds in science and mysticism would classify it as a meteor, and liken it to a cosmic phenomenon. And although Helder had not personally witnessed the happening, he knew it was probably not a meteor. Reaching the bottom of the candlelit staircase, he opened a medium sized single door of rotting wood and reddish iron. He made his way down the moonlit corridors of Vommstein Castle, observing several tapestries made to keep in the sparse warmth. Some of the tapestries almost blurted out to him, eerily breaking the silence of the castle by flapping against the wall with the wind. The gory images were made lifelike in the pale moonlight, and Helder could almost hear the shouts and screams of anguish of dying men fighting to the death. The dead seemed to rise up through the stone floor, and the short white hairs on the back of Helder's neck stood up straight. Wishing he had a torch and better eyesight, he completed his small journey and reached a large set of double doors with ancient, crumbling engravings on them. He grabbed the large ironclad ring to open the doors. Upon entering the throne room, he bowed, removed his pointy hat and touched his head. When the king gave a short nod, he rose and held his hat in his hand.

Chief advisor O'cula took a slow, deliberate surveillance of the surroundings near the crash site, his small black eyes moving from side to side. Every since the blackout in hyperspace, the being had been uncomfortably propped on the floor, unable to move. Being jarred by the crash, his immune system seemed to have taken over and correct the problem. Taking a breath of strange gas on an even stranger planet was quite a shock to the slender figure. It's one thing to survive while moving at sub-hyper inter-galactic speeds, and it's quite another to be able to breathe on a class IV Cepulus type-B planet. One would think that his internal workings would explode when reacted with such an environment, but obviously, he was not dead.


End file.
